Why I Became a Ghost Hunter

I never thought my life would lead here, to chasing shadows in the dark. But when everything else in your world feels hollow, you start looking for something — anything — that might make sense of the pain. Ghost hunting isn’t a hobby; it’s a calling that grew out of loss, out of grief. It’s a journey I took because I needed answers to questions I never thought I’d need to ask.

The night it happened, I was just a teenager. My sister Emily had been my closest friend, my confidante, the one person in the world who truly understood me. She had that rare gift of bringing light into every room, even on the darkest days. When she took her own life, my world became a blur of confusion and self-blame. I’d spend days lying in her room, trying to feel her presence, trying to understand what I could’ve done to keep her here. But nothing felt real anymore.

A few months after Emily’s death, I started dreaming about her. Vivid, unshakable dreams where I’d see her standing at the edge of my bed, her eyes just as sad as they had been in those last few weeks. She never spoke, just looked at me as if she were asking for help, as if there was something she needed to tell me but couldn’t. Each night, I’d wake up, heart pounding, desperate to reach her but helpless to make sense of it all.